


call and response

by days4daisy



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Clothed Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Can’t move out until tomorrow,” Bernard reasons. “Can’t fix your shoulder. I don’t like beer, and I don’t have a gun to clean. There aren’t many ways to fill the time, unless you have other ideas.”
Relationships: Ashley Stubbs/Bernard Lowe
Kudos: 14





	call and response

**Author's Note:**

> Additional content warning at the end.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Never considered this ship before Season 3, but now - welp, I've been blessed *-*

Bernard grew accustomed to a modest life in the months that followed Westworld’s fall from grace. But even by these new standards, their motel has seen better days. A 'shithole,' as Stubbs put it. Paint peels off walls untouched in decades. Likely the same decade when the bedspreads were bought. Bernard hopes it has not been that long since the sheets were washed.

Bernard returns from the outside world - _their_ world - with a six pack. He finds Stubbs on a bed cleaning his pistol. It’s a poor attempt at pretending he isn’t sulking about his shoulder. Bernard tosses Stubbs a can, which Stubbs catches without thanks.

It’s amazing how fast anyone, host or human, can become accustomed to a new normal. Life turned upside-down is still life, even for the unliving. Bernard combs his phone for signs of Dolores while Stubbs reminisces about the murder park. It's like they planned for life to lead them to this moment. Or like it was planned for them.

The blueprint has crossed Bernard's mind often since finding a glitching Stubbs in Westworld. Ford set Stubbs up as a chaperone for the park. Dangled him right under Bernard’s nose with Bernard and the rest none-the-wiser. Ford set Stubbs to self-destruct with the last of the park evidence, primarily made up of a room of Bernard Lowes. He must have wondered as much as anyone would have if the core directive he’d given Stubbs would keep his aim true. Or if, surrounded by the thing he’d protected for so long, Stubbs’ trigger finger would twitch at the wrong moment. Or the right one.

“I hate it when you think.” Stubbs glares at Bernard. He pops the tab on his beer, whatever pilsner Bernard could get for cheap, and downs half the can in one go. It would take a lot more to get Stubbs drunk, but it will help with his shoulder.

“Can’t move out until tomorrow,” Bernard reasons. “Can’t fix your shoulder. I don’t like beer, and I don’t have a gun to clean. There aren’t many ways to fill the time, unless you have other ideas.”

Bernard knows what he’s insinuating before the words come out. He's made to predict outcomes, even when those outcomes are his own. Bernard has to wonder if Ford built this into his core. The piece of him looking across a length of stained motel carpet at Stubbs. Evaluating with his eyes. Visual processes flagging a physical response.

Stubbs sets the unloaded gun and brush on his nightstand. “Help me out here, Bernard. I wasn’t built with your subtleties.” He polishes off the rest of his beer and tosses the empty can in the wastebasket under the desk. First try, perfect shot. Accuracy is high on Stubbs’ list, if Bernard remembers his diagnostics correctly.

“You should be the one helping me,” Bernard suggests. “You’re the one based in absolutes.”

Their kind does not have many reference points when it comes to mating. It should be a call and response. Sometimes based in biological need, sometimes not. The lure of words to action is a concept Bernard understands, but he cannot remember dabbling in it. He must have flirted with Theresa at some point. Or perhaps Bernard’s OS was quiet, and his more experienced creator took the reins.

This, though. This Bernard recognizes as flirting. A poor attempt at it, but Stubbs still climbs off one bed to join Bernard on the other. He sets a knee on the mattress, and Bernard becomes very aware of his own back against the headboard. His own pose, relaxed and open.

Stubbs looks Bernard over, a subtle shift in his eyes. Internal processes at work. Stubbs claims to be more simple than Bernard, less driven by emotion, but Bernard wonders if that’s true. And, if so, has Stubbs’ new core directive changed how he functions?

“You’re still thinking,” Stubbs points out. “Stop it.”

“Or you’ll make me?” Bernard’s mouth twitches. “Funny, I never realized how cliched your system is.”

“Before all this, you didn’t even know I was a system,” Stubbs reminds him. He has Bernard on this point, but Bernard succeeds in provoking the response he wants. That is, Stubbs shifting a knee between Bernard’s and leaning in.

Stubbs kisses hard and confident, it fits him to a tee. Bernard likes the way Stubbs feels and tastes. He likes the sound his beard makes scratching across Stubbs’ lips. He likes how Stubbs’ breaths sound so close, how Stubbs smells leaning over him. Every bit of him manufactured, every piece a perfect fit.

“Let’s take this off,” Bernard suggests, pulling on Stubbs’ t-shirt.

Stubbs eyes him flatly. “Easier said than done."

Pain is temporary for their kind, but Bernard still takes the removal of Stubbs’ shirt slow. His good arm is no problem, but easing it over his shoulder bandages is more of a struggle. As stoic as Stubbs pretends to be, even he winces when the garment crosses his wound. Stubbs looks real in this moment. He can feel pain, and if he can feel pain he can feel good too. He can want. He can need. Maybe he can even dream.

Bernard kisses Stubbs again before Stubbs can get all the way out of his t-shirt. He wraps arms around Stubbs and pulls more of his weight down across his chest. Stubbs huffs, but his good hand closes into a fist on Bernard’s shoulder. He makes a sound against Bernard's mouth that Bernard can’t believe was programmed. Something low and claiming. Something Bernard likes.

“Are you doing this to protect me?” Bernard asks.

“Shut up, Bernard,” Stubbs mutters. “I’m doing this because I want to fuck you.”

As far as Bernard knows, as much as he can remember, he’s never found himself in this situation. With women, yes. With Theresa. With others if Ford needed their influence. Not with men, never with men. Bernard wonders if it was different for Stubbs, who he was programmed to get close to and to what end.

Stubbs lifts Bernard’s head with the rough jab of a finger. “Stop thinking,” he says. “I won’t tell you again.”

“Well, now I have to keep thinking,” Bernard replies. There’s an unspoken threat in Stubbs’ words, and Bernard very much wants to know what it is. He wonders if Stubbs even knows, or if the statement is a callback to a scenario he does not remember.

Bernard wonders this and so many things. Stubbs never seems to wonder, never pauses as his system catches up to the situation. Stubbs speaks and acts without hesitation. They're made so differently. Amazing how attracted Bernard can be to a system so opposed to his own.

Stubbs’ mouth steals back Bernard’s attention, and he opens Bernard’s waistcoat with one hand. Bernard gladly shrugs out of the garment, giving Stubbs access to his shirt. Stubbs does not hesitate to open Bernard up, letting his skin hit the stale motel air. Stubbs’ hands are strong against his chest. He clenches fingers in the dark hair dusting Bernard’s skin.

It’s the first time Bernard remembers Stubbs distracted, especially since their reunion. He takes advantage with a well-timed shove. It wouldn’t work if Stubbs were paying attention, but Bernard succeeds in getting Stubbs to his back.

Stubbs looks up at him, surprised. It’s a momentary lapse, and with a smirk Stubbs starts to sit up to reclaim the advantage lost. Before he can, Bernard clicks the button in his pocket. Stubbs freezes on his back, the smirk still on his face. There is no change to Stubbs’ eyes, but Bernard can picture the affront that would be in them. Bernard will hear about this soon enough. A terse ‘fuck you, Bernard,’ or something more colorful. Bernard doesn’t mind. He wonders if he should feel wrong, if taking advantage of the off-switch is an abuse of privilege.

But Stubbs did tell Bernard to stop thinking, and thinking is the last thing Bernard wants to do at the moment. Stubbs lies on his back, smirk ever present. Bernard feels the shape of it with his lips, and follows with kisses down Stubbs’ chin. To his throat, tense but still. To his shoulders, bandages clean and thick. Bernard is gentle on the wound, a soft kiss before he descends.

Perhaps Bernard was not appreciative of Stubbs’ build before. Or maybe he couldn’t see it under his standard security uniform. They made Stubbs different from Bernard; all muscle, round and hard. He barely has any give under Bernard's kisses. Bernard scrapes a smooth ridge of muscle with his teeth. Stubbs has no hair on his torso. Bernard can’t help but wonder why. Is he based on someone Ford knew, or someone Ford wanted to know?

Stubbs’ jeans are easy to unfasten. His boxers droop low, gray cotton relaxed at the band. Deep pelvic grooves sprout from the waist. Bernard warms one with his breath. He wants to run his tongue through it, but he can’t quite bring himself to. Not yet.

Muscular legs are hard to pull denim from, but Bernard makes do. Stubbs’ underwear is far easier. Unclothed, his body is every bit as impressive as Bernard suspected. Even soft, his cock holds the promise of a good size. His thighs are thick, spread enough to entice. The blonde hair on his calves tickles Bernard’s fingertips. It matches the blonde curls framing his sex.

Bernard glances up the length of Stubbs’ body. Unmoving, not even a breath. Before now, it never crossed Bernard’s mind to want this. Now, he feels compelled, like he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to, not yet.

Bernard closes his lips around the soft length of Stubbs’ cock. He cannot remember ever doing this with a man, but the motion comes naturally. Bernard finds that he likes how his mouth feels around a cock. He likes the weight on his tongue and the smell of Stubbs’ skin. Bernard drags on Stubbs’ cock. He eases fingers between Stubbs’ legs and guides them to open further. It helps Bernard settle between his thighs. Stubbs’ knees press unmoving against his sides.

The off-switch apparently has limitations. Despite the freeze of Stubbs' motor functions, he thickens for the external stimulation. Bernard has to open wider to accommodate Stubbs’ increased size. The stretch is pleasant. Bernard nods back long enough to grow accustomed to the change, then lowers again. His throat tightens from the pressure. Bernard’s groan muffles in Stubbs’ skin. He continues, up and down. Bernard's kind is good at reading response, learning, improving in real time. Stubbs’ cock swells. He’s warm between Bernard’s lips and heavy on his tongue. Bernard chases the pressure, throat burning and mouth chafed from repetition.

Bernard’s fingers twitch for the off-switch on the mattress. He clicks.

Beneath him, Stubbs chokes on a sudden breath. His body shifts, then he groans as much from surprise as stimulation. “What the fuck, Bernard?” Stubbs gasps. Fingers scratch down Bernard’s scalp to roughly cup the back of his neck.

Bernard answers, but not in words. He hollows his cheeks and pulls Stubbs down his throat. Stubbs’ waist bucks from the mattress, a strangled sound off his tongue. Tears prickle in Bernard’s eyes at the scrape of Stubbs’ cock on the back of his throat. But he doesn’t gag, doesn’t panic. Bernard wants more, and this time around it feels easier to give in to his wiring than to fight it.

“Jesus,” Stubbs mumbles. He’s leaving finger bruises on Bernard’s neck. Nothing a stiff collar won’t hide if the occasion calls for it. Bernard likes the sting, chases it with a more fervent pace. Stubbs’ breath stutters, and Bernard likes the sound too. It confirms things he already knew about Stubbs. That he hates looking or sounding weak. That every shred of vulnerability has to be forced out of him. Bernard drags his tongue flat over Stubbs’ cockhead. Collects wetness from the slit before letting his head sink again. His cheeks draw in, his throat tight. Stubbs moans through a tense laugh. “God, Bernard, fuck you.”

Bernard feels the tickle of hair around his lips. The scent of arousal floods his nose. Bernard slides coaxing hands under Stubbs’ waist. Urges him higher, and the pressure mounts until Bernard almost can’t breathe. He doesn’t need to, but he still feels light-headed. His thoughts swim in a haze centered on Stubbs.

Stubbs doesn’t warn, which seems to suit him. He comes with a grunt, short and swift like a kick in the gut. A shudder rolls through his limbs like high tide crashing in. His orgasm is forceful to the point of pain. Bernard drinks Stubbs down, long deep swallows, as Stubbs bucks against his fingers.

It’s satisfying to find Stubbs blinking up at the ceiling, his normally laser focused eyes dazed. Bernard lifts his head and scrubs his wet lips with the back of a hand. Slowly, he unfolds, stretching over Stubbs’ body. Stubbs’ glazed gaze swims towards him. He scoffs, and Bernard smiles.

“If you wanted to blow me, you could have said so,” Stubbs grumbles. He slings a lazy arm around Bernard’s waist and tugs him down. His naked body feels good. Bernard is snug in his slacks, and he lets himself sink against the sturdy presence of Stubbs’ thigh.

“You don’t seem like the type who lets others take the lead much,” Bernard observes.

Stubbs shrugs. “Shows what you know,” he says. Bernard frowns at the implication. Stubbs’ mouth twitches, a slight lift of one corner. “What? We all had our role to play, Bernard. You did too.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Bernard argues.

Stubbs rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like I didn’t like it.” He flattens his hand in the small of Bernard’s back. The friction between them increases. Bernard groans at the added chafe against his already impatient arousal. He allows himself to shift enough to grind against Stubbs’ leg. “I was made to like it,” Stubbs adds, eyes on Bernard’s. “And you’re made to like this.” The hand on Bernard’s back moves to his ass. He squeezes, fingers curled to stroke between his thighs. Bernard groans, and his cock jerks in confirmation. His belly turns hot and soupy. Stubbs’ teeth scrape his bearded jaw.

“Wonder how much I could do to you with that off-switch.” Stubbs’ words ghost against Bernard’s face. “But it’s more fun like this. I knew you’d be the jumpy type.”

“I’m not jumpy,” Bernard counters, but another squeeze from Stubbs makes a liar out of him. His waist jerks downward, a shiver through his hips.

Stubbs lifts his leg casually, giving Bernard more pressure to grind against. The smirk returns to Stubbs’ lips. Bernard kisses him so he doesn’t have to see it. Stubbs lifts his head into the gesture, taking control with little effort. Before Bernard knows it's happened, his own lips are slack, and Stubbs' tongue is teasing the roof of his mouth. Bernard shudders. He’s warm and wet in his slacks, pre-release soaking into his underwear. Stubbs squeezes again, and Bernard finds himself rocking back. He’s torn between the friction on his backside and the thickness of Stubbs’ thigh between his legs.

Stubbs does not make him choose, crooking his knee, letting his leg arch higher. The pressure hits Bernard from both sides. Stubbs swallows his moan and every smaller sound that follows. Bernard goes rigid against him, throat tight, chest spasming. He comes, awareness fading in and out. Physical response takes precedence over emotional and mental stimulation. He hears his own heartbeat. Feels his spike in temperature. Shudders at the friction of Stubbs’ lips against his.

“I don’t have spare underwear,” Bernard argues, trying to detangle himself.

Stubbs gives him a low-lidded look. “Not my problem,” he says.

Bernard sinks next to Stubbs, lethargy settling into his limbs. He doesn’t need sleep to recharge, but his body does not want and he can't think of a good reason why he should.

Until he registers the cooling wetness in his slacks. With a huff, Bernard kicks out of his remaining clothes, grimacing at his soiled underwear. Stubbs seems content to watch, never once making a move to help.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Bernard notes.

Stubbs closes his eyes, a vague smile on his face. “Oh yeah,” he agrees.

Bernard shakes his head but mirrors Stubbs’ pose, lying on his back with hands bridged on his stomach. He recalls the smoothness of Stubbs’ body under him, the easy slide of his skin under Bernard’s lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re still thinking,” Stubbs mumbles beside him.

Bernard chuckles. “I’m always thinking,” he replies. “And you’re stuck with me, so you’d better get used to it.”

“Yeah right,” Stubbs says. But he doesn’t say he won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional content warning: Bernard uses the off-switch during sex without asking permission ahead of time. Stubbs has zero issue with this after the fact, but this may come off like dubcon to some.


End file.
